The Tattoo
by insaneprincess
Summary: ONE-SHOT. When she saw the line of black ink on his left arm, she always assumed it was the dark mark. HermioneXDraco.


Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. If I was, do honestly think I would be wasting my time writing fanfiction?

The library was her haven. And _he_ was disrupting it.

He wasn't precisely bothering her, so she had no reason to tell him to leave. But his presence was a constant distraction, making her wonder what he was doing, and if he was looking at her, and making her look up from her Transfiguration essay so frequently that she was pretty much bobbing her head up and down.

Hermione Granger prided herself on her grades. They were the one claim she had – she was the smartest. She didn't really approve of labelling people, but as everyone here already did, she still wanted a halfway decent title. And the smartest was exactly was she wanted to be.

Her parents had always taught her to work hard and never simply give up if the homework became difficult. She had always achieved straight A's, something that had made her parents proud. They still were proud; they just didn't really understand the grading in Hogwarts. O.W.L.'s were beyond them. And she was sure that N.E.W.T's would be, too. But she would still do her best, and get top of the class.

So distractions were unwelcome when she was writing a very important essay in the library – especially when they came in the form of Draco Malfoy. This was the Muggle studies section of the library, for Merlin's sake! There was no reason for him to be here. She would have thought that he hadn't known this part of the library even existed. But apparently he did, and decided that he would like to sit there and pretend to read, just to frustrate the hell out of her.

She was so sick of him. She had to deal with the fact that he was Head Boy to her Head Girl, and share a common room with him. And patrol with him Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. So she had already had quite enough of the git outside of the library. And now he had to follow her _here_, her safe place, and her quiet spot to think, just so that he could annoy her. He would randomly tap his fingers across the table nearby, or tap his foot, or hum loudly. Each new action resulted in a grit of her teeth and a string of silent profanities. Behaviour that Hermione Granger did not usually condone to. But she had had enough.

So she boldly slammed her Transfiguration book shut, and stormed over to his table, a few metres away. "COULD YOU SHUT UP, MALFOY?!"

He raised his eyebrows coolly, smirking. She knew it was unusual that she was yelling in the library, one of her favourite places on earth. But she was so infuriated with him. "Why, certainly Granger, if you'd politely asked me to stop humming, I might of considered it. But seeing as you viciously and irrationally shrieked at me and I enjoy humming while working… I'm going to have to say no."

She practically growled at him, and pushed him by his shoulders. Not expecting this, or the force of her shove, the chair actually toppled backwards and she resisted the urge to laugh. But her voice was still enraged as he hesitantly stood up. "What are you even doing here? You have no good reason to ruin my time in the library. And now my essay is going to be terrible because you keep distracting…"

His sleeves had been pushed up slightly and she trailed off as she stared at his left forearm. She couldn't see all of it, but there was a line of black ink on his arm. She gaped at it for a second, before he pulled the sleeve back down. She then looked up at his face.

His stormy grey eyes were cautious, guarded, and his face was closed off. She gaped at him wordlessly for a moment before turning on her heel, grabbing her things, and exiting the library.

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She ate dinner without talking to anyone. She had nothing to say, nothing to think about except for the ink on his arm. He had the dark mark. He was a Death Eater. He was a murderer.

The war was coming, one day, soon. But it had always seemed fairly distant to her. But seeing the dark line on his arm had changed that. It seemed, now, like the war was almost upon them, and it was making her feel very insignificant. Draco Malfoy was only seventeen; it seemed far too young to be a Death Eater. Although, she was seventeen, and she intended to fight in the war, too. Just on a different side.

She was almost afraid to go to their shared common room after dinner, not knowing his reaction. Death threats, likely. Not that they were very frightening now. But since she had not seen him at the Slytherin table at dinner, she was worried that he would be in the library still, and that was the only other place she could go. So, with a dejected sigh, she headed for their common room.

When she met the portrait of a shepherdess on the third floor, she muttered the password she had set. "Teamwork." She had hoped that it would serve as a reminder to him, that they needed to share the work equally. Surprisingly enough, he had done the work without complaint. He didn't care how she set of the Prefect's charts for rounds, or when they had to patrol together. Sometimes, he was surprisingly easy to live with. He didn't bother her, she didn't bother him. He never called her a mudblood. So she stopped insulting him, albeit playfully teasing and mocking. They both could live with that; it was their version of insults when they needed to be civil and cordial to one another.

But tonight would be different, she was sure. She had never liked Malfoy much, although she supposed she couldn't completely despise him now. But tonight, she had learned a deadly secret. A secret he would not want to get out. Although, the Slytherins probably already knew.

She was really shocked, too. Maybe because he had been almost nice to her for half the year now, she had really believed he had changed. He didn't seem like his father; contrary, when he got a letter from him, he would get very stiff and cold and throw it in the fireplace, letting the flames devour it. They came less often now.

But that was beside the point. No matter how shocked she was, she needed to figure out what she was going to do with this information. Telling someone – like Harry and Ron, or Dumbledore, somehow felt like betrayal. Maybe it was because she had to live with him and he seemed to be making an effort to be nice. So maybe she could be, too. Except this wasn't just being polite, it was keeping a secret, a huge secret. Why would she do that for Malfoy? She was pretty damn sure he wouldn't do that for her. So what was the point?

She was still confused as she looked around the empty common room, and noticed his door closed. Unusual, as both of their doors were always open. But he clearly wanted privacy, and honestly, she didn't really want to talk to him either. What would she say? _Hey look, Malfoy, I realize you are a Death Eater and a murderer, who will someday attempt to kill me in the war, but I was wondering if I could tell my friends who hate you and the Headmaster, because I think they need to know, but telling them without your permission feels like I'm betraying you for some reason even though I know you would never do the same thing for me. Okay, bye. _That would go over well.

She sighed, uncertain, and sure she was in for a long night.

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She spent the next few days studiously avoiding him, which was not hard. He didn't want to be around her either. The common room was silent in the evenings.

She didn't know what to feel about the fact that he had the mark. She hadn't told anyone yet, but she still didn't know what to do. She wanted to talk to him before she said anything to anybody – not ask him if it was okay, just get some answers. But she still didn't know the questions.

She knew she wasn't afraid of him, though, and that was certainly weird. Because he was clearly dangerous. He was a Death Eater. But she couldn't conjure the right kind of fear.

She was… intrigued. Which she really shouldn't be. But he was a mystery to her: unknown information, knowledge she hadn't conquered – yet. She didn't know why it was so important to her. But it mattered to her, for no reason, whether or not he had chosen this. Whether or not she should feel sympathy. She also knew it would likely affect her decision whether or not to tell someone. It would be harder to if she felt sympathy.

She also really needed to know if he was a murderer. Because she could not live in the same dormitory as a murderer. _Then_, she would be afraid. Really afraid.

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After a week, she decided she couldn't keep avoiding him. He was a Death Eater, but he'd been oddly nice for the past months. She had determined that she wasn't afraid of him. But she was afraid to ask him questions. Afraid of his reactions. So she might leave that for a while.

So she sat in their common room, waiting for him to come back after Quidditch practice. He looked tired when he returned. She didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. He stopped abruptly when entering their dormitory upon seeing her waiting for him. Sighing, he put his broom down and sat in the armchair opposite her.

"I've been expecting this. The confrontation. Oh well. I can't help it, you've seen it."

She swallowed nervously. "Yes, and I don't understand."

"I knew you'd figure it out at some point. I mean we're living together. And I haven't worn a t-shirt the entire time." He laughed humourlessly and continued. "It doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would, having you know. Although, I understand if it scares you, it's… different."

She wet her lips. "I'll say." She sighed. "I'm not afraid… although maybe I should be. But I can't seem to find the right kind of fear. I've been intrigued, actually."

He sighed. "Yes, I figured. You might think I'm mad."

"Not mad, exactly. I don't know what the word is." She was afraid to ask questions, no matter how kind he actually was being now.

He smirked at that. "I'm surprised, actually, that you haven't told anyone. What about our dear Scar-head and Weaselbee?"

She gritted her teeth. "They'd flip. And, well, I figured it's also kind of your decision to tell someone or not."

"That's generous – but you're involved now, too. You also have a decision to make."

"I'm not telling them."

"That's not it. You've got to decide whether or not there's anything to tell."

She stared at him, perplexed. "What are you talking about? I can't change anything about what's happened. I have nothing to do with the fact that you're a Death Eater."

He stared at her for a full minute, and then, shockingly… burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?" she demanded haughtily.

He shook his head, still laughing. "Did you see the full tattoo?"

She looked at him, confused. "Well, no. But I saw the black ink on your left forearm. What are you still laughing at?" she snapped, her words having caused him to burst into another fit of genuine laughter.

"You thought I had the Dark Mark! You thought I was a Death Eater!" he snickered.

"Well, aren't you?" she asked, annoyed.

He just laughed.

"Fine," she said with a sniff. "Then what's on your arm?"

He instantaneously stopped laughing, looking hesitant and careful now. His eyes were uncertain. His eyes, which she realized very suddenly, were a shockingly intense grey. A captivating grey. She forced herself to look away as he spoke.

"I'm not sure you'll understand. You'll think I'm scary or weird or creepy. I'm not sure I can show you. You'll take it the wrong way." He was looking at the ground, now, seeming fearful of meeting her eyes.

"I swear to understand, no matter how weird or freaky it is. I just want to know. I mean I thought I knew… why have you been avoiding me for the past week?"

"Well, I thought you might need time, to er… make a decision. Everything I said before, I meant. I thought you saw my whole forearm…'

"Please tell me."

"I'm guaranteeing you, you won't believe me. But anyways… uh, over the past few years here, I've actually noticed you much more than you could possibly guess. I watched you in class; I was too distracted by you to even attempt to focus. You seemed to be everywhere, and you seemed… beautiful." Her expression froze and he took a deep breath as he continued.

"I started seeing you differently at around the same time as the first letter came from my father. My initiation would be soon. My initiation to become a Death Eater.

"I panicked when I got that letter. I didn't want that life, I never have. Well, when I was a kid, I thought that I wanted to be like my father – so influential, so powerful. But, when I learned _why_ he was so powerful, so influential – through crime – bribery, etc. And being a Death Eater surely helped.

"I didn't want any of that. I'm nothing like my father. So when I got that letter, I didn't know what to do. So I went to Dumbledore. He helped me out of it. I'm under the Order's protection and surveillance here. The letters I keep getting are my father's typical hate mail – death threats, promises of being crucioed until I'm permanently paralysed, writing me out of his will. He can only do the last one, and I'm not worried. My mother loved me, if he didn't.

"Anyway, a few months ago, we had a Hogsmeade visit. You know there's a new tattoo parlour there. Well they have magic tattoos – and Muggle ones. The Muggle ones are permanent. I decided to celebrate my triumph of the fact that I wasn't a Death Eater by mocking it. Getting a black tattoo on my left forearm sounded perfect – the question was what to get. But they could do any of the letters in the alphabet in this simple yet beautiful cursive. Simple yet beautiful – it reminded me of you. And the thing is Hermione, and I knew it even then, I – I've fallen in love with you."

She gaped at him soundlessly as he finished. She was sure she'd forgotten how to speak.

"So, I got your initials tattooed on my arm. And it's permanent. So you can understand why I thought you would need space and why you would be so shocked." He finished in a rush.

She was silent for a long moment. "You got my initials permanently tattooed on your arm?" she clarified quietly.

"Er… yes," he said, very close to blushing, even with his pale skin. He slowly got up, and sat down next to her on the couch. "I love you, Hermione Granger. I always will." And then, almost as though it was happening in slow motion, he bent his head down and very gently pressed his lips to hers.

Her shock was what held her still for a minute, before her hands were around his neck, holding him closer, messing his perfect blonde hair. He had one hand at her waist, pulling her next to him, and one tracing her cheek and then moving to her hair. It was perfect – something she hadn't expected. She hadn't evaluated her feelings for Draco Malfoy yet, but from the way he was kissing her, or more importantly, the way she was kissing him, she was pretty damn sure that she loved him, too.

She'd clung to the idea, throughout the year, that she still hated him. It was a shred of normalcy. She was overwhelmingly busy, what with the work load in seventh year and Head Girl Duties and patrolling three nights a week. So she hadn't been a very social person. And she had kept everything that she could the same. It was easier that way.

But she realized now, with his lips on hers, that there was absolutely no way that she had hated him this year. They'd actually kind of been friends, or at least friendly, as they had had to share a dorm. Which hadn't been that bad. Which wasn't sounding bad right now. Not bad at all.

He gently pulled away, staring deep into her chocolate brown eyes, their foreheads pressed together. She forgot the rest of the world in that moment. She forgot her infallible grades, and her friends who hated him with a vengeance, and the fact that people thought they were enemies. She forgot the fact that they weren't supposed to be together. That didn't matter. Nothing mattered except him. So she dared to whisper those dangerous, honest words.

"I love you, too."


End file.
